


fell far from the tree

by biblionerd07



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Acceptance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Estrangement, Family Issues, Homophobia, M/M, Self-Acceptance, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 09:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12579004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: Sometimes acceptance is a process, one that takes work. Bitty wishes he didn't have to understand that.





	fell far from the tree

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a lot of Zimmermann family feels, so it's time for the Bittles to get their turn. As a warning: this is not a terribly happy coming out story, but it does have a happy ending. There is no violence or outright homophobic language, but there is invalidation of Bitty's sexuality and his relationship with Jack. But again--happy ending!

Bitty takes a deep breath. “Mama. Coach. Or—Pops. Dad. I—I’m gay. I’m gay and I’m dating Jack. Jack and I are in love and we’re dating because I’m gay. Jack’s my boyfriend. I’m gay.”

“Are you talking to me?” Jack calls down the hall.

“No!” Bitty yells back. He sighs and steps away from the mirror. No amount of practice is going to make this perfect. He grabs his suitcase off the bed and comes out of the bedroom for the first time in hours. Jack’s sitting on the couch, watching the door intently.

“Were you doing a last video before you leave?”

“Something like that,” Bitty says. He leaves his suitcase in the entryway and climbs into Jack’s lap. He thunks his head down onto Jack’s collarbone. “Do you think it’s cowardly of me to wait until the last night I’m there to tell them?”

Jack kisses the side of Bitty’s head. “Bits, I don’t think there’s anything cowardly about what you’re doing.”

It makes tears spring up in Bitty’s eyes. He blinks them away. “Are you going to be okay here all alone without me?” He’s aiming for teasing, though he’s not sure he makes it. He wishes Jack could come with him, but they agreed Bitty should do this on his own. Well. Jack wanted to come, but Bitty thinks he should do this alone. It’s going to be a lot for his parents to take in, and he doesn’t think he should make his mother choose between being polite and hospitable and actually processing what Bitty’s saying.

“No,” Jack tells him. It surprises Bitty into laughing. He can feel Jack smiling against the side of his head. “Shits and Lardo are going to come stay for a few days while Ransom and Holster are on their annual road trip. They can be here or not when you get back, up to you. You can decide when you get to the airport.”

“You think of everything, huh?” Bitty buries his face further into Jack’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I had an idea,” Jack says, almost shy. That’s how Bitty knows he cares about whatever his idea was. Bitty sits up so he can see Jack. “I thought you could take this. A reminder, you know? Like I’m there with you.” He holds up a thin silver chain. His Stanley Cup Champion ring is threaded on the chain. Bitty smiles as Jack slips it over his head.

“Your Cup ring is my reminder of you?” Bitty asks, amused. “Not, you know, something a little more personal?”

Jack blinks. “What’s more personal than my Cup ring?”

Bitty laughs out loud, because Jack isn’t even kidding. “Thank you, honey.”

Jack kisses him. “We have to leave soon.”

Bitty sighs. “I know.” He rests his head back on Jack’s chest. “Oh, God, I’m terrified.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Jack promises, rubbing his big hand up and down Bitty’s back. “I mean, I don’t know how they’ll take it. You know them better than I do. But no matter what happens, I’ll be here waiting for you, and we’ll get through it together.”

Bitty nods against Jack’s chest, a little too choked up to say anything for a minute. He’s been a mess for days, since he decided he was going to come out to his parents on this visit. “You’re getting great at speeches, Mr. Alternate Captain.”

Jack huffs. “Maybe you should take notes, eh? Now that you’re Captain.”

“Lord, don’t remind me,” Bitty groans. “I got so much work to do on that.”

“Worry about it later,” Jack admonishes. “You’ve got enough to think about.”

“Yeah.” Bitty sighs again. “Guess we should get going.”

Jack holds him tight before Bitty can get off his lap, giving him a squeeze and a long, deep kiss. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here. Call me whenever. Any time. Don’t try to get through this on your own, okay? We’re a team, right?”

“We’re a team,” Bitty agrees. “I think I’ve gotten too used to leaning on you to try to do it myself anyway.”

“Good,” Jack says.

Jack drops him off at the departures curb. He wanted to park and go inside, but Bitty reminded him that a hat isn’t doing much against fans these days. It’s only been a month since the Falconers won the Stanley Cup for the first time in club history, and people are still taking notice.

Jack squeezes Bitty’s leg before he gets out of the truck, low enough to be out of sight of the windows. “I love you,” he says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I love you, too,” Bitty says, trying not to tear up again. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

He doesn’t look back as he heads inside. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to make himself keep walking if he does. Bitty has no idea what to expect when he tells his parents. On the one hand, he feels like they _must_ have an idea. Everyone else and their dog seems to take one look at Bitty and assume.

But he knows the power of willful ignorance, and he’s a little afraid of their reaction once he takes that away.

Bitty spends the whole flight listening to a special mix of his pregame pump-up music and Jack’s slow oldies. Jack’s old-man music doesn’t do much to make Bitty feel powerful, but it does make him think of Jack and calm down.

Suzanne’s waiting as close to the arrivals gate as she can get without buying a ticket and going through security. “There’s my boy!” She cries when she sees him, and despite his nerves, Bitty can’t help but laugh and give his mother the biggest hug of his life. Since he didn’t go home right away at the end of the term, this is the longest he’s gone without seeing his mother in his entire life.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Oh, honey, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Suzanne says. “Come on, let’s you get home and fed up. You’re looking so strong! Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I’ve been bulking up a bit,” Bitty admits, giving a little self-satisfied shimmy that makes his mom laugh at him. “Finally getting those muscles that come after puberty. And Jack’s got me on all these different protein powders.”

“Can’t hurt to train like a _champion_ ,” Suzanne says, grinning. “It’s nice you can get training tips from your best friend.”

_Best friend_. It sticks against Bitty’s heart. He swallows the words down. He decided: at the end of the trip. Then if it’s bad, he can leave. Besides, he’s certainly not going to come out to his mother as they walk out of the airport.

The drive home is full of the kind of catch-up gossip Bitty usually relishes with his mother, but he’s strung so tight worrying about the end of the visit he’s freaking out at the beginning. He texts Jack. _Landed, in the car with Mama._

Jack texts back in record time. _It’s going to be fine. Have fun with them, Bits._

Bitty huffs. Fun. Mama glances over at him. “Texting the boys?”

“Jack,” Bitty offers, tapping out his response. _I’ll do my best. What are you doing for dinner? Please do not say protein bar and smoothie._

“I’m glad you got such a good friend in him,” Mama says. It slams into Bitty’s chest again. _Friend_. He breathes slow and deep, the way he chants at Jack to do when the world’s pressing down on him.

“Me too,” he says instead of anything he’s actually thinking. Jack’s taking a suspiciously long time to answer. Bitty tacks on, _I froze some of that casserole and left the instructions for you_. It was supposed to be a last resort, but, left to his own devices, Jack won’t bother cooking. It isn't that he _can't_ ; he absolutely can. He just doesn't care enough to do it for himself most days.

_Okay,_ Jack finally says, though it’s still 50/50 if he’ll actually eat it. He always says he doesn’t see anything _wrong_ with a protein bar and smoothie. _Thanks, Bits. Love you_.

Bitty bites down on his lip to stop the dumb smile from taking over his face. He and Jack have been together for a _year_ now. He would’ve thought he’d get used to Jack saying that, but somehow being apart gives the words more weight.

_Love you too, sweetpea. I’ll call you tonight before bed._

“Hiya Junior,” Coach says when Bitty and Suzanne get home. “Flight okay?”

“It was fine,” Bitty says as they hug.

“Dicky, you must be starving,” Suzanne says. “Let’s get on dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty says automatically. He’s not all that hungry, but helping with dinner will calm him down. They don’t bother getting too fancy; chicken and biscuits and some corn on the cob Suzanne got from the farmer’s market this morning.

“Don’t worry,” she tells Bitty. “They’re open again on Thursday. We can go back.”

He’s leaving Thursday night. He’ll have told them by then, assuming he doesn’t chicken out. He pulls up a smile even though his stomach has dropped so completely it feels like it’s in the cellar.

“Sounds great,” he manages to say.

“You alright, sugar?” Suzanne asks. “You seem a little off.”

“Just tired,” Bitty lies. “You know me, always leave packing to the last minute.”

Suzanne clucks her tongue at him while they get the food over to the table. Bitty _hmm_ s over the chicken.

“You marinate this in something, Mama? It tastes great.”

Suzanne preens. “I pinned it on our board, Dicky. You’ll have to try it when you get back to school for all those boys, especially now that you’re the captain!”

Bitty laughs. “Mama, they’d eat rocks if I put it in front of them. Jack will like it though. If it’s fast enough, he can do it himself during the season when I’m not around to cook for him.”

“You cook for him a lot?” Coach asks. “Seems like he should be paying you for that.”

“Oh, Coach, he don’t need to pay me,” Bitty protests. He wants to laugh at the idea. He’s going to chirp Jack about that later. “He does make all his teammates pay me when I make them jam and bread and pies, though.”

“Good,” Coach says. “They’re all rich enough to give you what you deserve.”

“Dicky loves cooking for his friends,” Suzanne reminds him. “He wouldn’t make Jack pay him.”

“Jack does a lot for me,” Bitty says. “Not like we keep track or anything, but I’d say we’re pretty even.”

“That's how friendships should be,” Suzanne says warmly. Bitty takes a too-large bite of chicken. She's not wrong. Jack _is_ his friend. Has she always brought that up this much? Maybe she suspects something.

“You know, we need a picture of you in your jersey with your C on it,” Coach says. “For the wall in the den.” The den is Coach’s football room and doubles as a sort of family sports shrine. Bitty laughs, embarrassed, but doesn’t protest. He counts himself lucky to be on Coach's wall.

He tries to focus on his food. He shouldn’t be this nervous to be at home. He loves coming home to see his family. He’s just freaking out about coming out to them. He falls back on his and Jack’s mantra—one day at a time. He’s not coming out to them tonight, so he can relax.

“You know, Dicky,” Suzanne starts conspiratorially. “Emma Ellsworth is home for the summer.”

“Is she?” Bitty asks, surprised. They played hockey together in high school. Bitty thought Emma wouldn’t come home much, considering how much she always complained about Madison.

“Sure is, she graduated college early and she’s job hunting now. Not many kids your age left around here these days, you know. You should call her up.”

“Maybe,” Bitty says noncommittally. He’s not sure he wants to hang out with someone he hasn’t spoken to in years, especially when he’s not even staying a whole week.

“Could take her to the drive-in,” Coach suggests casually, and then Bitty suddenly understands what this is. He bites his lip hard.

“I don’t like the drive-in much,” he responds, trying to inject as much warning as possible into his words while staying polite.

“You’re going to graduate next year,” Suzanne points out, like Bitty forgot. “You don’t want to look back and regret not dating more.”

“Mama,” Bitty says quietly.

“We just want you to find a nice girl, Junior,” Coach cuts in, and they’re both smiling at him and Jack’s ring is pressing against Bitty’s chest and he’s suddenly choking on all of this passive-aggressive bullshit. He’s doing it now. He’s not waiting another second.

“I won’t be finding any nice girl,” Bitty says, voice even. “I don’t like girls. I’m gay. And I don’t need you to set me up with anyone, because I’m dating Jack. Have been for a year now.”

The words almost seem to echo. Bitty holds his breath. Well, he ripped the band-aid off, probably with more force than was necessary. Coach looks down at his plate and doesn’t seem to even be breathing anymore. No one says a word. Bitty is suddenly angry, blindingly so. This shouldn’t be such a big deal. He shouldn’t be afraid to tell them something so monumental, especially when he just told them about Jack, who makes him happier than he thought possible. He wants to stand up and scream at them.

He loses all his anger at the sound of the choked-off sob his mother makes. Bitty makes himself look over at her. She has her hands over her mouth and her eyes closed like she’s in pain. Tears immediately spring into Bitty’s own eyes.

“Mama,” he tries. She shakes her head wordlessly at him. He can’t take it anymore. He leaves the table without excusing himself and flees to his room. He pulls Señor Bun out of his bag and curls up on his bed. He slips Jack’s ring out from under his shirt and puts it on his thumb. It’s still too big even there. Then he hits the call button.

It rings for so long Bitty’s afraid it’s going to voicemail. He honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Jack doesn’t pick up. Sob into Jack’s voicemail, probably, and then Jack will hijack a plane and land in some farmer’s field or something equally ridiculous. But then Jack answers, breathless.

“Bits, hey, sorry, I’m out for a run.”

“Why?” Bitty asks, distracted for a second. “Didn’t you already run this morning?”

“Well, I just didn’t really have anything else to do,” Jack admits. Bitty can picture Jack shrugging and suddenly he’s sobbing after all.

“I told them,” he gasps out. He hears Jack exhale loudly.

“Oh, Bits,” he breathes. “Not good?”

“My father wouldn’t look at me and my mother started crying her eyes out. Wouldn’t even let me talk after that.”

“Bitty,” Jack says, so sympathetic and loving and Bitty _hurts_. His chest hurts and his stomach hurts. He wants Jack. “I’m so sorry, bud. You want to change your flight? You want to come home right now?”

_Home_. Home is with Jack, not here anymore.

“Yes,” Bitty says. But he wasn’t exaggerating all those times he said his mother is his best friend. Or she was, anyway. She may not be anymore. But they had so many plans for this week, and they’d both been looking forward to it. “I don’t know,” he amends.

Jack hums in thought. “You want to sleep on it?” He suggests. “Maybe give them time to think about it. Maybe it’ll be better in the morning.”

“Maybe,” Bitty says skeptically. “But that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack repeats. “I wish I was there with you.”

“I do, too.” Bitty sniffles. “Lord. I didn’t do a good job of it, either. They were trying to get me to go out with a girl I used to play with in high school and they were doing that dumb hinting thing I hate and my dad said _oh we just want you to find a girl_ and I…” He sighs. “I just blurted it all right out.”

“Well, you’ve been holding onto it for a long time,” Jack points out. He can’t be running. His voice is steady and clear through the phone.

“You give up on your run?” Bitty asks.

“I’m sitting under a tree. You know that bridge at the park? By the pond? That’s where I am.”

“That’s a nice spot,” Bitty says. He closes his eyes and puts Jack there in his mind. In his mind, Jack is wearing respectable blue running shoes instead of the hideous neon-yellow ones he won’t get rid of in reality.

“Every time I’m here I think about kissing you on the bridge,” Jack tells him, voice low but smile audible. “Someday.”

It almost makes Bitty sob again. “Guess there’s nothing stopping us now.”

“Uh, maybe just one thing,” Jack points out, and Bitty has to laugh a little, despite himself.

“Right. Sorry, you know I didn’t mean that as a push.”

“I know. You never do.” Jack sighs. “I really wish it didn’t go like that, mon trésor.” Bitty must really sound distraught if Jack’s bringing out the pet names. Though he did tell Bitty once he was going to try using them more often. He seems to think Bitty uses pet names so often because he wants Jack to use pet names, too, but Bitty really doesn’t mind. The fact that Jack even started calling him _Bitty_ was kind of a big deal.

“Me too.”

“Je t’aime. Tu es mon raison de vivre et l'amour de ma vie.” Jack’s voice gets different when he speaks French. It gets deeper, and he talks a lot faster. Or maybe that’s just because Bitty can’t understand anything when he’s speaking French.

“I love you too,” Bitty says, because he knows that one. Even if he hadn’t before he started dating Jack, he certainly knows it now. He sniffles again. “But your reason to live? That’s kind of dramatic, sweetheart. I thought that was my job in this relationship.”

Jack laughs, that low chuckle that rumbles through his whole body. Bitty loves hearing it when he has his head on Jack’s chest.

“You call me dramatic all the time.”

“That’s true. Je t’aime too.”

Jack laughs again. “What is that? Franglish?”

“I’m trying to get it recognized as an official language I can put on my transcript. I’d get an A in that one for sure.” Bitty’s starting to get sleepy, the combination of traveling, high emotion, crying, and Jack’s soothing voice in his ear lulling him. Not to mention he’s been so stressed out about this trip he’s hardly slept for days.

“You can’t sleep yet,” Jack says. “You’ll wake up way too early.”

“Gotta get up early to run here or it gets too hot,” Bitty reminds him.

“You say that like you’re actually going to run without me there to drag you.”

“Excuse you, Jack Zimmermann, I have been known to go running of my own accord.” Bitty’s actually smiling now. He doesn’t know how Jack can always get him to do that. Jack makes an exaggerated skeptical sound and Bitty laughs. “I’m a collegiate athlete _and_ team captain.”

“True,” Jack concedes. “And you do have a great body.”

“Well!” Bitty says. “Sounds like Shitty and Lardo _won’t_ be there when I get back.” Jack cracks up laughing and the sound settles Bitty’s emotions even further. “Alright, Chirpy Pants, get back to your run,” Bitty says. “I’ll be alright.”

“I’ll Skype you when I get back,” Jack promises. “Think you can stay awake until then?”

“Mm, probably, because I don’t know if I can fall asleep without seeing your pretty face. It’s been a long time since I did that, either in person _or_ on the screen.”

“I know. The bed’s going to be cold tonight.”

“You hog all the blankets like you think you’re the only one in it anyway,” Bitty huffs.

“That was one time.”

“One time…per night,” Bitty corrects.

“O _kay_ , I will talk to you later,” Jack says. Bitty knows he’s rolling his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Bitty lies there on his bed for a while after hanging up, trying not to think about anything. He thought he was doing the right thing, coming without Jack, but now he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s easier on his parents, but it’s definitely not easier on Bitty.

A small part of him had been hoping that it would magically be fine. His parents would hug him and say it didn’t matter to them either way. They’d be overjoyed to know he was happily in love. It was ridiculous of him to think that, he knows, because he lived with them his whole life and heard the kind of comments they made, but he couldn’t just turn off his hope.

It’s certainly turned off now.

Bitty hugs Señor Bun tighter to his chest and breathes deep. He’s going to be fine. He’ll get through this. Even if his parents…

He takes another deep breath and forces the thought through his mind. Even if his parents don’t want anything to do with him anymore, he has Jack. He has his team. He even has Jack’s parents. He has family, regardless of his parents. He’ll be okay.

 

Bitty’s cautious as he heads to the kitchen in the morning. He _did_ get up and go for a run, but he’s been tiptoeing around, avoiding his parents. He has to eat, though. Suzanne’s at the stove, frying bacon. Coach is nowhere to be found, probably in the den. Maybe he’s ripping Bitty’s team pictures off the wall and throwing away his old trophies. Suzanne doesn’t turn around when Bitty comes in, but her shoulders tighten so Bitty knows she heard him.

“Morning, Dicky,” she says. “You want some breakfast?”

“Uh…yes, please,” he answers, a little confused. When she brings the plate of bacon to the table, she’s smiling overly brightly.

“So! Did you want to head into town and visit with Katya today? We’re having dinner at Moomaw’s tomorrow, don’t forget, so we probably don’t have time to go into town tomorrow.”

Coach comes into the kitchen then. He nods at Bitty and forces a too-wide smile, and it all clicks in Bitty’s head. They’re ignoring it. They’re pretending he didn’t say anything. It’s the adult version of stuffing their fingers in their ears and chanting, “La la la!”

Bitty doesn’t know what to do. On the one hand, it’s better than hostility and crying. On the other, they’re pretending a huge part of who he is doesn’t exist. He wanted to come out to them so he wouldn’t have to talk around Jack and lie. If they’re not going to acknowledge it, what was the point?

Besides that, he still has a kernel of last night’s anger. It’s not like he told them he robbed a bank or anything. He’s a good kid, always has been, and for them to act like this is a dirty secret they’ll have to keep is insulting, to put it mildly.

But Bitty bites his lip. Maybe playing along, at least at first, is better. He said his piece. He’s still tired, and he doesn’t know if he has any fight in him just now. At least they’re not kicking him out or anything.

“I’ll go to the rink,” he decides. “I wanted to send Jack some pictures now that the renovation’s done on the dressing rooms.”

Suzanne drops her fork with a clatter. Coach is back to staring at his plate like the secrets of the universe are written there. Maybe there’s a guide on pretending your son’s not gay.

“Jack,” Suzanne mutters, nostrils flaring, and then all the fight is roaring through Bitty’s blood.

“Yes, Jack,” he spits. “My boyfriend. I told you, I love him, and he loves me.”

“Junior,” Coach admonishes.

“I’m not going to hide anymore!” Bitty yells. He doesn’t know if he’s ever raised his voice at his parents in his entire life. “I kept it all locked up for so long, but I can’t anymore. And you know what else? I lied about staying at the Haus this summer—I’m staying in Providence with Jack. After I graduate, I’m moving in with him, and he’s going to come out to the public and we’re getting married sometime in the next five years.” He probably shouldn’t have said all that, especially the marriage part, because they’ve only had two conversations about it and definitely don’t have an actual concrete timeline, but he figures he’s already in for a penny and all that.

“You don’t have to throw it in our faces!” Suzanne cries. “If you think you’re—that way—”

“Gay, Mother,” Bitty interrupts icily. “I’m gay. I don’t think. I know. And I hardly think it’s throwing it in your face to talk about Jack. I talked about Jack all the time before you knew I was dating him. You never had a problem before.”

“He could be your friend without _that_.”

“He could,” Bitty agrees. “But he’s not. I’m going to marry him.”

“You can’t—that’s not _real_ —” Suzanne shakes her head.

“Have you tried dating girls?” Coach asks before Bitty can start screaming at his mother again. “Maybe if you just—”

“No.” Bitty stands up. “I’m not doing this. I told you who I am; you don’t get to try to convince me otherwise.” Neither of his parents say anything. Coach still won’t look at him. “I think I’d better go.” Bitty’s voice cracks.

“Go where?” Suzanne asks, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Home.”

“You _are_ home,” Suzanne reminds him.

“Back to Jack,” Bitty says. He’s still in control enough to realize spitting _you are not my home anymore_ isn’t the best idea.

“Junior, you can go back to Samwell, but you shouldn’t be living together,” Coach says firmly. Bitty scoffs.

“I’m twenty-one years old,” he reminds them. “If Jack were a girl you wouldn’t be mad about that. Y’all were already living together at my age.”

“That’s—” Coach doesn’t finish the thought. _That’s different_.

“It ain’t right,” Suzanne says. “Why’nt we go down and talk to Pastor Bill and—”

“No,” Bitty says flatly. “I ain't interested in hearing his opinions on my love life.”

Coach snorts. “Love.”

“Yes, love.” Bitty feels like he’s a pot that finally boiled over. He spent years listening to their snide comments, seeing them raise their eyebrows at the news or TV shows with gay couples, and now he’s brimming with resentment. He thinks of talking to Jack last night when he felt like the world was ending, thinks about Jack's arms tight around him in the midst of an anxiety attack, thinks of the way his heart all but burst as he watched Jack hoist the Cup over his head with tears streaming down his face. “I love Jack. I _love_ him. I don’t ever want to be apart from him. I worry about him and I think about him and I want to always do what’s best for him. And that’s what he does for me! He takes care of me and he cares how I feel and he makes me _happy_. How is that not love? It ain't fake just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Dicky.” Suzanne is plaintive, but she doesn’t go on.

“I’m going,” Bitty says.

“That’s it?” Suzanne asks. “You want tolerance but you won’t let _us—”_

“I won’t let you make me feel bad for loving myself.” Bitty’s crying in earnest now, but he keeps his head high. He’s worked too hard on accepting himself to back down now. He’s been around people who know him and love him and don’t ask him to hide and he’s not going to let anyone force him back into that closet ever again, not even his mother. “Or for loving Jack.”

“Dicky, please,” Suzanne says, voice choked with tears. “Can’t we talk about this?”

Bitty sniffs and runs the back of his hand under his running nose. It’s disgusting, but it’s not like he’s wearing long sleeves in this heat. “If you want to talk about me pretending not to be gay again, no, we can’t.”

Neither of his parents say anything. A sob escapes from Bitty’s mouth, but he clamps his teeth together and turns away. He tried to prepare himself for this possibility. He even thought of worse scenarios, so this is comparatively not so bad.

It doesn’t feel that way.

He shoves his pajamas and Señor Bun back into his suitcase, grabs his bag of toiletries out of the bathroom, and orders an Uber to the airport. He can sit there and wait until whenever the next flight is. It’s better than this.

As he’s standing up to leave, his father appears in the doorway. Bitty swallows hard. There’s always been a bit of a wall between them, and this certainly isn’t going to help. Bitty blinks, trying to look tough and not like he’s on the verge of collapse.

“You got money to change your flight?” Coach asks quietly.

That catches Bitty off guard. “Uh—Jack…”

Coach’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “A’right.” He sighs and hesitates in the doorway. “We—your mama and I…well, if you just let us explain—we just don’t understand why—” He cuts himself off. “We do love you, Junior, you know that.”

Bitty clenches his jaw to keep his lower lip from trembling. “You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of me you love,” he says. He wishes he sounded brave and strong and not like a child throwing a tantrum, but he can’t really help it. Pain crosses over Coach’s face, but he doesn’t say anything else. He leaves.

Bitty gathers his things and leaves his parents’ house. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever come back.

 

The rest of the summer passes mostly peacefully. Jack is so gentle with Bitty the first few days he gets home, and Bitty, admittedly, cries a good deal. Jack never makes him feel bad about it and he pulls Bitty right into his lap, every single time, and kisses the tears off his cheeks. Shitty and Lardo come visit and the four of them spend an entire day in a cuddle pile on the couch.

But Bitty tells himself, and Jack, that they have to keep living. He did this for them, and they’re going to enjoy it. It is a relief, in a lot of ways. He doesn’t have to stop himself from posting things on Facebook other than using Jack’s name. His parents obviously aren’t spreading the news, because his aunt Connie comments on Bitty’s Pride rainbow-filtered profile picture with simply, “????” Bitty ignores it. If there’s anyone in his family who will take the news worse than his parents, it’s his aunt Connie.

There are hard days, when Suzanne shares a video of a “former gay man who finds God again”, or when Bitty doesn’t call his mother on her birthday, or when he and Jack go to Montreal and Bob and Alicia are so _nice_ to him and love him and he wonders why his own parents can’t get it. Those are days Bitty cries.

But there are such good days, too. Days of morning runs and farmers’ markets with Jack, days of meeting Jack’s “uncles” Mario and Wayne and getting lightly grilled to make sure he’s good enough for Jack, nights of quiet conversations about the future, nights of double dates with Shitty and Lardo and nights where Jack's annoying oft-broken-nose snoring wakes Bitty up in the middle of the night until he elbows Jack hard enough to make him roll over. It’s not that any of that wouldn’t happen if he hadn’t come out to his parents, necessarily. But the more people he tells and the more people who accept him, the better he feels. As long as he reminds himself that he’s loved for who he is, he knows he’ll be alright.

 

The Haus is so much quieter without Ransom and Holster. Dex and Nursey still argue almost constantly, but no one matches Holster in sheer volume. It makes Bitty kind of sad, almost homesick, in a way, for how things used to be. It doesn’t make sense, since it’s the exact same place, but everything is just so different these days.

His phone buzzes on the counter, but he’s up to his elbows in bread dough and can’t look at it right away. It’s probably Tater sending him more Russian cat memes, or Jack sending him screenshots of Tater sending _him_ Russian cat memes. Bitty’s going up to Providence next weekend and he’s trying out a new bread recipe because one of the Falconers’ rookies has a gluten intolerance. Bitty about died when Jack admitted that to him. How is Bitty supposed to bake without _gluten_? It’s been a struggle, but Bitty’s not going to leave the poor boy out.

He found the recipe on Pinterest. His own solo Pinterest board, now. The board he had with his mother has been dormant for nearly two months. He tries not to think about it.

Whoever it was doesn’t text again in the twenty minutes it takes Bitty to get everything squared away and cleaned up, so he knows it isn’t Jack. If Jack had to wait twenty minutes for a response from Bitty, he’d be chirping away. It can’t be the group chat, either, because that one goes non-stop once someone gets it going.

When he finally grabs his phone, he gasps. He has a text from his father. He turned off text previews as soon as he got to the Haus, since there will be new rookies on the team and he doesn't know them well enough to trust them with Jack. He can’t have them seeing anything incriminating on his phone until they’ve been properly vetted and possibly hazed. So all he sees is that Coach texted him, no warning of the contents.

Bitty’s not sure what to do. Should he read it here? He doesn’t want it tainting the safe space of the kitchen if it’s bad. But he doesn’t want to go all the way upstairs to read one text. But maybe it’ll make him cry, in which case he’d rather hide in his room. But he wants to keep an eye on this bread as it’s baking since he doesn’t know what to expect. And if the text makes him cry he may need to bake some emergency cookies to feel better. He’ll need to get himself together fast, because he has to leave for strategy for a pre-season game in an hour and a half. He has some game plans he was going to review while the bread bakes. He doesn’t know if he should read the text—no matter what it says, it might throw off his game.

Bitty shakes his head at himself. He’s being absolutely ridiculous. He opens the message.

_Good luck on your first game as captain, Junior._

Bitty stares at the text for a long time. It’s normal for his father to wish him luck before games. Bitty just wasn’t it expecting it this season. He hasn’t heard from either of his parents since July, though his mother did like a Facebook post when he mentioned getting back to the Haus.

_Thanks, Coach,_ he finally sends back. He waits, but he doesn’t get a response. Still, it’s a little flame of warmth in his chest. His father is reaching out the only way he knows how, through sports. Bitty smiles and gets back to making notes on Yale’s new first-line center.

  


Bitty takes a hard check in the third period against Quinnipiac, hard enough that Hall shakes his head and sends Bitty back to the locker room for concussion testing. Bitty knows he’s at an increased risk because of his previous concussion, but still. There are only six minutes left; couldn’t they just wait and let him _watch_ the rest of the game? He’s the damn captain, and they're in the middle of the season. Every game counts.

But he knows better than to argue. He obediently goes through the testing and the questions. The team doctor decides he’s fine, which Bitty already _told_ them, and by then the game’s over. At least they won. He talks to the boys after and makes sure to have a firm chat with that new freshman with the temper who’s lucky he didn’t get a game misconduct for throwing his stick in the penalty box, and he doesn’t get a chance to check his phone until he’s walking back to the Haus with Chowder.

He has a bunch of texts from Jack, first telling him his flight to LA's leaving, then congratulating him on his goal, and then three more asking about the hit; a text from Lardo wanting to know the results of his concussion testing; a string of texts from Shitty with commentary on the game; and some severely misspelled joint texts from Ransom and Holster because they had to work during the game and watch and text discreetly. Bitty would pay money to watch Holster try to do anything discreetly.

He shoots Lardo a text assuring her he’s fine, but no one else needs an immediate response. Jack watched the game from the plane, so he knows they won, but the plane’s got to be descending by now and he won’t have service. Bitty assumes the voicemail is from Jack, but he swipes over to get rid of the missed call notification.

He has a missed call and voicemail from his mother. Bitty stops walking.

“—and I thought, here they come, but—Bitty?” Chowder stops and turns around to look at him. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you dizzy?”

“No, I—my mama called me,” Bitty murmurs. Chowder’s eyes get big and round. He knows all about Bitty’s falling-out with his parents. All the boys do, and they’ve rallied around him in support like he knew they would. “I have a voicemail,” Bitty adds.

“You should listen to it,” Chowder says. “But what if it’s bad? Do you want me to listen to it first and tell you if it’s mean?”

Bitty can’t help but smile at that. “It’s okay, Chowder. I can handle it. I don’t think she’s going to be saying anything awful—she’s southern. We’re more passive-aggressive than outright nasty.”

“But that could still make you sad,” Chowder points out.

“Very true,” Bitty admits.

“Okay, you listen to the voicemail, and I’ll have Jack on my phone ready to talk to you right away.”

Bitty laughs and squeezes Chowder’s arm. “I don’t think he can answer right now. Don’t you worry, I’ll be just fine. I think I’ll wait until we get home, though.”

“Good idea,” Chowder says sagely. “I hate being in public when I’m trying not to cry.”

That, of course, catches Bitty’s attention, and they talk about what might’ve made Chowder want to cry recently. Bitty’s protectiveness over Chowder keeps him from getting too anxious and worked up as they walk.

When they get home, Bitty just wants to slip up to his room unnoticed, which is basically impossible after a win. A kegster is in the works, and everyone wants pie. Bitty bites his lip and is about to just give in—he’s captain, and the boys need to refuel with carbs and protein, and really, it won’t take too long, and does he even really _want_ to listen to that voicemail?—when Chowder drops into the splits in the doorway of the kitchen as a distraction. Bitty loves him fiercely as he runs upstairs.

_“Hi, Dicky, it’s your mama. I…well, they said you had to go for concussion testing, and I just…you alright, sweetheart? I know we haven’t—I know things are—” She sighs. “I hope you’re alright. Can you call—if you want to call, I…I’m here.”_

Bitty’s never heard his mother so hesitant. His heart is squeezing in his chest. She was listening to the game, or at least checking in on it. She’s worried about him. Logically, he knows he shouldn’t be surprised—she’s still his mother, and he was her whole world for over two decades. Of course she’s worried. Still, it makes tears spring into his eyes. He texts Jack before he does anything.

_I promise I’m fine, did the concussion protocol and declared fit as a fiddle, as you know very well. ;) Mama called to check in and I’m about to call her back. Wish me luck!_

By the time Jack gets the text, everything will have already happened, but it makes Bitty feel stronger even to have a one-sided conversation with Jack. A lot of their early conversations felt pretty one-sided, too, and look how that turned out.

Bitty’s hands are shaking a little as he pulls up his mother’s contact info. It’s strange not seeing her in his recent calls, but he’s gotten used to it. He hopes this doesn’t end up more painful. It takes him almost five full minutes to work up the nerve to hit _call_.

It rings four times before his mother picks up. “Dicky,” she breathes. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Mama,” he promises. “Did all the testing and they said I don’t have a concussion.”

“Oh, good.”

Silence falls between them. Bitty swallows hard. He doesn’t know what to say to her. It hurts to think his mother has become a kind of stranger to him.

“Um. So,” Bitty says tentatively. “I, uh. I’ve been trying some new recipes. Gluten-free for…one of Jack’s rookies.” He’s reaching out, sure, but he’s not going to waver on his decision to be strong. He told them he’s with Jack; he’s not going to stop talking about Jack to protect their bigotry.

“Gluten free?” Suzanne asks. She sounds more breathless than skeptical, but Bitty can tell she’s working on it. “For a hockey player?”

“Yeah, you know, he’s allergic. Or intol—uh, yeah. He can’t eat gluten.” Bitty’s not sure _intolerant_ is a word he wants to bring out just now.

“That seems awful. Nice of you to try to find something for him, though.” Suzanne’s as unsure as he is. It’s quiet for a second again. Then Suzanne takes a deep breath and says, “So how’s Jack doing?”

Bitty blinks back tears, pressing a hand to his mouth. She’s trying so hard. And yes, he wishes she didn’t _have_ to try, but he can’t change the way she grew up any more than he can change the way he did. He didn’t come to terms with it overnight, either. He’s not backing down, but maybe he can cut her a little slack, now that she’s trying.

“Jack’s great,” Bitty says, sniffling a little.

“Tell him I say hi?” Suzanne offers.

“I will.”

Bitty emerges twenty minutes later with swollen, red eyes but a bright smile. The Haus is oddly clear of anyone but the team, and Bitty walks into the kitchen to find Jack on Skype on Dex’s computer.

“—but the social media people—Bits!” Jack cuts himself off when he sees Bitty. He’s still on the bus—he must’ve called the second they landed. “Are you okay? I didn’t want to text or call you while you were in the middle of talking to her, so I called Dex instead.”

Bitty leans close to Dex’s screen and kisses the image of Jack’s face. “Fine,” Dex says, sounding bored. “Also, unhygienic.”

“Chill,” Nursey says. “Let him have this.”

“Yeah, Dex, jeez!” Chowder scolds. “Leave him alone! Ransom and Holster _said_ we have _discretion_ when we give fines and we need to _take care_ of our bros’ _emotional well-being_ before we enforce rules of _hyper-masculinity_.” He sounds like he’s reading from a very specific script, and it had to have been written at least partially by Shitty.

“He doesn’t pay his own fines anyway, so does it even matter?” Tango points out.

“It’s the principle,” Nursey tells him. “Like, support and all.”

“It was good,” Bitty ignores them all to tell Jack, smiling. “It was really good.”

Jack smiles back at him. “Good, mon trésor,” he says softly. “I’m so glad.”

“French pet name’s still a pet name. Fine. And those faces are another fine.”

“ _Dex_!!!!”

Bitty shakes his head, still smiling, and submits to Jack’s questions about the game and the hit. He has a feeling things are definitely going to be alright.

 

When Bitty’s parents come for graduation, things still aren’t back to 100% between them. It’s a little awkward, and Suzanne’s eyes snag on Jack’s arm around Bitty’s waist for a half-second too long, but she hugs them both warmly and hugs Bob and Alicia, too. Jack’s parents are far too polite—and media-trained—to be outright cold, but Bitty catches Alicia narrowing her eyes at least once when Coach avoids Bitty’s eyes. He’s torn between loving her protectiveness and wanting to defend his father.

Overall, Bitty’s happy with how it’s all going. Most of his stuff is already in Providence, packed up little by little and taken to Jack’s piecemeal (preparation thanks to Jack, definitely not Bitty), and Bitty doesn’t feel too overly emotional about leaving Samwell. He’s sad, of course. Samwell is important to him, and he’ll always love it here for everything he learned and the friends he made. But he’ll be close enough to visit all the time, and he’s ready to move on.

He makes a bet with himself that he won’t cry at all today. He already got through giving up his dibs and _Chowder_ crying a few days ago, so he figures he can make it through anything today. He’s alone in the kitchen for a minute, doing a last check through for forgotten supplies, when his father clears his throat from the doorway. Bitty turns around. They’ve texted a bit and had exactly three phone conversations since Bitty came out. Bitty didn’t go home for Christmas, so this is the first time he’s seeing his father in almost a year.

“Junior,” Coach says. “Your mama and I are real proud. Congratulations.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. “Thank you, Coach.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute. This, at least, is familiar—slightly-uncomfortable silences between Bitty and Coach are par for the course.

“I did some redecorating in the den,” Coach offers.

“Did you?” Bitty asks, trying to hide his consternation. Coach is not someone who talks about decorating. Coach isn’t someone who decorates at all to even have anything to talk about, for that matter.

“I, uh, brought some pictures to show you.”

Bitty raises his eyebrows but leans in close to Coach’s phone to have a look. He doesn’t see much difference at first—the walls haven’t been painted, the armchair in front of the TV is the same. It’s all the same photos of his dad’s teams, state championship plaques, the grainy newspaper cutout of Coach in a uniform with sweaty helmet hair beside the old picture of Suzanne in her cheerleading skirt with pompoms. There are Bitty’s old figure skating trophies and medals, one of his high school jerseys, a picture of him in his Samwell jersey his frog year. The picture of him with the C is new. They didn’t ask him for that, so they must’ve gotten it off the website. But Bitty’s breath catches when he flips to the last picture and realizes what his dad really wanted to show him.

Up on the wall behind the couch, there’s a new jersey. It’s a Falconers jersey, #1. Zimmermann. Beside it is a picture of Jack and Bitty with the Cup, from Jack’s celebration day in Montreal.

“Oh,” Bitty breathes.

“Just thought, you know.” Coach shrugs and shuffles a little. “Can’t have a Stanley Cup winner in the family and not put him up on the wall.”

Bitty loses the bet with himself—he cries. It turns out he’s alright with that after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not from the South, but I do have very conservative religious parents, so if Suzanne and Coach are anything like that...let's just say this is an optimistic view of how coming out might go. :/


End file.
